


Under Broken Wings

by PensiveDevil



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PensiveDevil/pseuds/PensiveDevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three wounded souls battling their demons, and occasionally each other. The two things are not necessarily mutually exclusive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gloomy Grouch

_November 19, 1995_

Kevin seemed unusually gloomy today, Hunter thought.

Not grumpy or grouchy, like he normally was. Gloomy.

Hunter wasn’t sure what could possibly be wrong. Tonight was Survivor Series; Kev was going to be dropping the World Wrestling Federation Title to Bret Hart, and Hunter couldn’t remember a time since he’d arrived in the company back in April when Kevin hadn’t been grumbling about how glad he’d be to be rid of the damned thing. Kevin had been flattered initially to be chosen to be the face of the WWF; it meant management trusted him, it meant _Vince_ trusted him. It was a level of trust few men in the wrestling business would ever receive. But he had soured on it quickly. Hunter recalled the conversation they had had about it a month ago, when the young man had finally summoned the nerve to ask what it was, exactly, that Kevin hated so much about being the _champion_. It was Hunter’s dream to be in that position someday. How could it not be the greatest thing ever?

“It’s just not all it’s cracked up to be, kid,” Kev had said. “They expect you to have a certain image. They want you to be as whitemeat as possible. They want you to look corporate. Act corporate. Shmoz with executives. Kiss babies in front of the camera. Go on Regis & Kathy Lee. Go to a million autograph signings. Verbally blow the fans every time you pick up a mic.” Hunter had laughed at this last bit. Kev had a gift for invective unlike anybody Hunter had ever met. “It really just came down to a difference of opinion between me and Vince, on what kind of champion I should be,” Kev continued. “I wanted to go with what brought me to the dance, be more heelish and edgy. Instead… well, I think you know the rest by now. And the shitty feuds only made it worse.”

Cognizant of how crestfallen the kid had become by this point at the idea that being the top guy could actually end up sucking so much, Kev had tried to reassure him a little.

“I don’t want you to think it’s not worth going for though. The truth is, it’s different for everyone. Some guys are more suited for it than others. Bret fits Vince’s mold well enough. And I think when Shawn gets it down the line, he’ll do fine.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“And you’ll do fine too, when the time comes.”

Hunter smirked. “You really think I’ll be champion someday?”

Kev frowned. “Do we need to have another discussion about your self-esteem issues?”

A quick and unexpected kiss from his boyfriend, eyes sparkling with mischief, had instantly shattered Kev’s faux-angry visage, as Hunter’s kisses always had a habit of doing. _My kryptonite_ , Kevin had called him.

 It hadn’t taken the two long to bond after Hunter joined the company and hopped in with group known as the “Kliq”—Kevin Nash, Shawn Michaels, Scott Hall, and Sean Waltman. Purely by chance a couple months after Hunter arrived, Kevin and Hunter had been the only two Kliq members doing the “A-show” schedule while the other three were on the “B-show” this time around. For two solid weeks, the two had been together almost twenty-four hours a day, driving up and down the road, hanging out in the locker room before, during, and after the shows, then sharing a hotel room together. They talked about the business, bounced ideas off of each other, talked about co-workers, and, mostly, they laughed. They had the same sense of humor, and nothing was off limits, from Vince’s hair to Chris Candido’s obliviousness regarding his girlfriend’s promiscuity to the silly exclamation point on Dean Douglas’s rainbow robe. They could find humor in anything. And Kevin was, Hunter thought, the Leonardo Da Vinci of profanity, and some of the things he said made Hunter laugh until his ribs ached. It made the long car rides that much more tolerable.

They had shared their first kiss after Summerslam back in August. It had been a rough night for both; Hunter had been temporarily knocked out by a careless Bob Holly dropkick, and had no remembrance of the ending of his first WWF pay-per-view match; Kevin, meanwhile, had wrestled Mabel, who had splashed all 500 pounds of himself down on Kevin’s lower back, even after being told by Kevin beforehand not to. Kev had been furious after the match, and management had been on the verge of firing the hapless Mabel until cooler heads prevailed. An aching Kevin and a dazed Hunter had skipped the post-PPV celebration and headed back to their room to crash for the night. It was hard to say which of the two was more worried about the other, but Kev was the self-appointed motherbear of the Kliq, and settled into the role accordingly as soon as the door was closed behind them, forgetting about the pain in his back and doting on the potentially-concussed Hunter as much as his mom ever had.

“Are you sure you’re okay though?” Hunter asked blearily. Mabel was the size of a small car; the splash had been a horrifying moment to witness.

“Probably gonna feel like shit tomorrow, but I’ll manage. Don’t worry,” Kev said soothingly, tousling Hunter’s hair. And before Hunter knew what was happening, Kev leaned in and kissed him—a brief, light brushing of Kevin’s lips against his own, demanding nothing in return, but merely testing the waters. Hunter was stunned, more by the fact that he had actually enjoyed it than by the fact that Kev had done it at all. The pounding in his head now forgotten, he hesitantly leaned up towards Kev for another, and the older man eagerly granted it. The second kiss was longer, deeper, Kevin’s tongue hesitantly entering Hunter’s mouth and meeting his. Hunter whimpered softly, wrapping his arms around the big man’s neck, letting Kevin sink against him. Kevin had broken it off before things got too far—neither of them were in any condition for further physicality tonight—but Hunter’s whispered “Don’t go” had led to Kev crawling under the covers and nestling Hunter against him for the remainder of the night.

They’d been together for almost four months now, and Hunter had never been happier.

Kevin was lying on the bed in their hotel room now, with hours to go before they needed to be at the arena for the PPV. He stared at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. _Clearly not happy thoughts, either,_ Hunter thought, studying the older man. He’d spent most of the ride from the airport to the hotel in silence, not even laughing at the normal jokes from the others. Hunter recognized Kev’s usual mood swings by now well enough to know that this was different. _May as well pry a bit_ , he decided. It was low-risk, after all. Kevin never snapped at Hunter, no matter his mood. He was the only one immune to Kev’s grouchy eruptions. He climbed up on the bed, kneeling next to the big man.

“What’s goin’ on? You’re… not yourself today.”

Kevin didn’t answer right away. His brown eyes rested on the younger man. He opened his mouth for a moment as if to reply, then closed it again.

Hunter wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. He crawled on top of Kev, straddling him.

“You can tell me anything, you know.”

Kev smiled slightly, but there was a hint of sadness to it that didn’t escape Hunter’s notice. What could it possibly be?

“We’ll talk later, okay?” Kev said softly, reaching a hand up to caress Hunter’s cheek. “Now’s not a good time.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” He instantly regretted the question.

His lover winced, smoothed a strand of golden hair out of Hunter’s face, sighed.

“Yeah, it really can.” Hunter was becoming increasingly unsettled. “It’s not anything you’ve done though,” Kev added reassuringly, seeing the young man’s discomfiture. “I want you to enjoy the show tonight. We can talk about it all after.”

The inference that Hunter wouldn’t be able to enjoy the show if they talked about it before, was not lost on him. Obviously Kevin was holding off delivering some sort of bad news. He was dreading the conversation to come, and what it might bring. But he decided not to press any further. Whatever it was, he’d have to wait, because Kevin wasn’t going to budge, and Hunter didn’t want to risk irritating him when he was already so unhappy. Hunter leaned down and kissed his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around him.  
  
“Love you.”  
  
“Love you too.” Kev’s voice was strained. The words were barely audible.

They spent the remainder of the time cuddled together in silence, until it was time to leave for the arena. In spite of Kev’s best efforts, Hunter found his excitement for the pay-per-view considerably diminished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Kevin Nash has expressed displeasure in multiple interviews with the handling of his tenure as WWF Champion--both in terms of the direction his character took, and the feuds/storylines he was booked in. Listening to his interviews with Kayfabe Commentaries, he seems fairly convinced that he was sabotaged from day one to be a failure as a champion. He was genuinely glad to finally drop the title when the time came.
> 
> -Hunter was legitimately knocked senseless by Bob Holly's dropkick at his first PPV match at Summerslam '95. He's mentioned in an interview having no recollection of the ending of the match. The part about Mabel big-splashing Kev's lower back, and Kev being irate about it, is also drawn from real-life; management actually was angry enough to consider firing Mabel, but Kevin claims that he put a stop to that. If you go back and actually watch that part of the match, you can hear Kevin actually screaming f-bombs at Mabel after the big-splash, while he's face-down on the mat.


	2. Heel Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter loses his first WWF match. It turns out to the highlight of his night.

_November 19, 1995_  


“You paying attention, kid?” Mark Calaway inquired in a tone that plainly told Hunter that he knew otherwise.

 _Ohfuckme_ , Hunter thought frantically.

“Yeah, sorry.” _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

“Alright.”

He knew his face must’ve been beet red by now. Not only because he could feel it burning in embarrassment, but because Henry Godwinn was chuckling at him.

Of course it was all Kevin’s fault that he was having such a difficult time focusing on the planning for the eight-man tag match he was taking part in tonight. He’d really wanted to make a good impression too—it was his first time working with Mark—with the man known as the Undertaker, arguably the most respected and revered wrestler on the roster—and Hunter was beyond mortified at drawing his attention in such a negative manner. The fact that the other three guys completing ‘Taker’s team tonight—Godwinn, Savio Vega, and Fatu—were all part of a locker room group known as the Bone Street Krew, and not always on the best of terms with the Kliq, only added to the young man’s nervousness. His own teammates—Mabel, Jerry Lawler, and Isaac Yankem—were no particular friends of his either. He felt very much alone in this crowd.

 _It could be worse_ , he told himself. To his knowledge, the only one of the men that knew about his relationship with Kevin was Mark; Kev had felt that Mark, being the de facto locker room leader, should be in the know. Hunter had protested.

“What if he thinks I’m just with you to get a push? What if he spreads it around, and they _all_ start to think that?”

“Mark’s not like that. He won’t spread it around to anybody, not even his boys. And I’ve told him you want to earn everything you get.”

“Did he believe it? Or did he think it was bullshit?”

“He knows I wouldn’t bullshit him. You can trust Mark. He has the reputation he has for a reason. He’s not gonna stab you in the back, he’s not gonna spread gossip, and he’s gonna judge you fairly. You’re a blank slate to him right now, he hasn’t really interacted with you enough to have much to go on. He judges you on what he sees you do in the ring and how he sees you behave away from it. In other words, just keep doin’ exactly what you’re doin’ and you’ll be fine.”

Mark had been gone for the past month, recovering from surgery on a broken orbital bone. Tonight was his big comeback, complete with a rather creepy (Hunter thought) half-mask resembling something out of _Phantom of the Opera_ , partially to provide protection as he continued to heal, and partly to play up the storyline that the gargantuan Mabel had crushed his face.  
  
The planning of the match continued, Hunter doing his best to shove Kevin to the back of his mind. He needed to knock this out of the park tonight. He didn’t give nearly as much of a damn what the other mid-card guys thought about him, but he wanted to earn Mark’s respect, and show the man that he wasn’t just some punk kid attaching himself to the top guys in order to get an easy ride to the top.

The general theme of the match was that the returning Undertaker was going to single-handedly annihilate Hunter’s team once he was finally tagged in. Hunter eagerly volunteered to carry the majority of the workload for his team. He was the least experienced of the eight, and his philosophy at this stage of his career was simple: in order to learn, he needed to work.

The crowd was hot for ‘Taker’s comeback. Hunter started off the match for his team, and proceeded to get bounced around the ring by one babyface after another. Finally ‘Taker was tagged in; the building erupted in cheers, knowing that the heel team was about to get demolished. Lawler was the first to be eliminated, the other heels leaping off the ring apron in mock terror as he begged for a tag-out rather than face than the risen Dead Man. He was Tombstoned and pinned; Isaac Yankem came in next. ‘Taker ran the ropes and leapt at the man with a grace and agility that floored Hunter. _How the fuck can a guy that size_ move _like that?_ Yankem in turn was Tombstoned and eliminated, and that was Hunter’s cue. Attempting to flee, he was cut off at ringside by a gleeful, slop-bucket-wielding Henry Godwinn, and, keeping with his preening Blueblood character, backed away in horror at the prospect of being doused with the contents. A gloved hand grabbed his ponytail from behind, wrenching him upwards onto the ring apron. The Undertaker grabbed Hunter by the throat, lifted him over his head and chokeslammed him all the way from the outside to the center of the ring. The impact knocked the wind out of him. He lay prone on the canvas while Mark crawled over, grabbed his hands, crossed them over his chest, and got the pin. It was the first time Hunter had been pinned in the company. _Not a bad way to go_ , he mused.

The match ended with Mabel running away rather than face the Undertaker; the big man dragged Hunter backstage with him in his flight, and the babyface team celebrated in the ring.  

Almost as soon as he passed through the curtain, he was torn from Mabel’s side and yanked into a bone-crushing hug by Kevin.

“You did great, kid,” the older man purred in his ear, and Hunter beamed; it was the happiest he’d seen Kev all day. Kevin gave him one more tight squeeze, then let him go before the hug risked carrying on long enough to make anyone raise an eyebrow. Hunter had barely let go of his boyfriend when he suddenly received an unexpected swat on his backside. Spinning around in surprise, he came face to face with a winking Shawn Michaels.

“ _Attaboy_!” Shawn exclaimed. “Loved the chokeslam bump Hunt, pretty sweet.”

“Hope ‘Taker didn’t pull your hair too hard, Whitey,” Scott Hall chimed in. Hunter cringed; he hated the nickname his fellow Kliq companions had bestowed on him, teasingly, in reference to the lightness of his blond hair.

“Not any harder than I had to.”

Hunter turned at the sound of ‘Taker’s voice. The big red-headed Texan, flanked by his BSK brethren, approached him. He hadn’t yet removed the half-mask; in spite of himself, Hunter backed up a step, then mentally kicked himself. _Jesus, don’t be a mark. He’s not the boogeyman. It’s just a gimmick._ The faintest hint of a smile played at Mark’s lips ever so fleetingly, but his piercing pale green eyes betrayed his amusement. _He doesn’t miss a thing_ , the young man thought drearily. To his astonishment, the older man raised a heavily-tattooed right arm and stuck his hand out towards Hunter.

“Good work tonight, kid.”

“Thank you.” He took the proffered hand, giving as firm a shake as he received. “It was an honor.”

There was that hint of a smile again. The green eyes boring straight through him. Hunter had the distinctive feeling that there was a whole separate conversation going on here somehow, that he was being sized up in some way. It was over in a flash though, and Mark said nothing further. With a nod of his head at Hunter, he turned back in the direction of his companions, stopping briefly only to exchange some words with Kevin that Hunter couldn’t make out.

Hunter grabbed a quick shower, changed into a black polo shirt, a pair of khakis, and black leather loafers—he had always made it a point of trying to dress sharp since he joined the company, to make a good impression—and settled in to watch Shawn and Scott’s eight-man tag, and, finally, Kev’s main event title match with Bret. Bret pinned Kevin with a roll-up, after which Kevin feigned going ballistic, deliberately bellowing “MOTHERFUCKER” as loud as he could while the camera was trained on him. It was the type of thing that drove Vince nuts, and Hunter couldn’t help but laugh.

“And now, the heel turn,” Shawn narrated with a grin, as Kevin proceeded to lay waste to Bret and multiple referees after the bell.

“Two Jackknife powerbombs, rough night for the Hitmeng,” Scott said drily.

“Almost a year of pent-up frustration,” Shawn joked.

Kevin stood triumphantly, arm raised, over Bret’s crumpled form, and Hunter couldn’t help but smile. _He looks reborn_ , he thought. _He really is glad to be rid of it._

***

_One hour later_

Kevin’s post-match euphoria had been short-lived; it ended the moment the rental car doors closed and the Kliq began making its way back to their hotel. Glancing at his lover from the corner of his eye as he waited for the red light to turn, Hunter sighed. It had been such a great night, too. What awaited him once they were alone together? He couldn’t even begin to guess.

The Kliq parted ways in the hotel lobbies, Shawn, Scott, and Kid heading off to the bar, Kev and Hunter to their room. They rode the elevator up to the fifth floor in a silence that Hunter was finding increasingly unbearable.

“I really wish you’d just tell me what’s going on,” he finally blurted, unable to stand it any longer.

Kev didn't respond. They finally reached their room, and Hunter keyed in. Kevin closed the door behind them as Hunter put his bag down and flicked on the lamps. Then, more silence. Kev hadn’t advanced much further than the door; he seemed almost frozen in place. Frustrated, Hunter plopped down in the recliner, leaned forward, and stared expectantly at the older man.

“You know you’re killin’ me, right?” he murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said quietly. “But this is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Hunter’s breath caught in his throat.

“There’s no easy way for me to break this to you, so here it is,” Kev continued in a choked voice. He paused long enough to draw in a shuddering breath, barely able to look at Hunter, his face a portrait of torment.

“Tamara’s pregnant.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The Undertaker did undergo orbital bone surgery a few weeks after Summerslam '95, and this was worked into his feud with Mabel at the time. 
> 
> -'Taker headed up a backstage group known as BSK; I've read it as both Bone Street Krew and Backstage Krew, but went with the former for this story because I've seen more references to that name. I'm honestly not sure which, if either, are the correct one; I've even heard two different names for the acronym in shoot interviews when it's discussed. But anyway, apparently the members of the group at one point in '95 were even getting "BSK" tattooed on them (i.e. the "BSK Pride" tattoo on 'Taker's torso). I've heard them described as "enemies" or "rivals" of the Kliq, but from everything I've ever read/heard from anyone actually involved in the two groups, it was more a matter of the Kliq looking out for each other and the BSK guys looking out for each other at a time when the general feeling among the wrestlers was that management didn't always have the backs of "the boys." My general impression is that the one Kliq member anyone ever really had a problem with was Shawn. Kevin admits to getting along with BSK fine, and was good friends with 'Taker. Henry Godwinn has also spoken very highly of his days working with Hunter during this period.
> 
> -The "Whitey" reference comes from an older Hunter interview where he says his friends gave him that nickname because of his hair color.
> 
> -Kevin does, indeed, bellow "motherfucker" immediately after getting pinned by Bret. Clear as day. Just Kev being Kev.


	3. Future Tense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin's revelation turns Hunter's world upside-down.

They were still friends, Hunter had assured him after that terrible conversation was all over.

 In truth he felt betrayed, but feeling betrayed made him feel dirty; if anything, he was a betrayer, or at the very least an accomplice to one. He had knowingly dated a married man. A married man who was separated, admittedly, but a married man nonetheless. Kevin has ceased wearing his ring months ago, pronouncing the marriage dead in the water. Hunter had never been completely at ease with the situation. He’d wished they’d just wrap up the divorce and be done with it.

 _I guess dead things in the water can come back to life_ , he thought bitterly.

It was just supposed to be an innocent little dinner, the way Kevin explained it. His estranged wife had wanted to make peace a couple months ago. That was all. Nothing was going to change. She didn’t know about his relationship with Hunter—a fact Hunter regretted now, because maybe that would’ve done it; maybe that would’ve been _the_ nail in the coffin, and none of this would’ve happened. But the innocent little dinner had apparently ended up involving quite a bit of alcohol, and then one thing led to another thing which led to another thing. And now Kevin’s first child was going to be born sometime next June.

They’d decided to keep it. They’d try to pick up the pieces of their marriage for the sake of the baby.

“I’m so sorry.”

He’d lost count of how many times he’d heard those words tonight. Kevin had gone on at length about how sorry he was, how terrible he felt, how much he loved Hunter, and so on, but Hunter couldn’t remember a word of it now. He’d gone numb from head to toe sitting in the chair in their room as the realization had struck that they’d still been going to bed together every night for the last couple months after Kevin’s “innocent little dinner” with Tamara. He wasn’t even sure how to process it. Had Kevin cheated on his wife, on Hunter, or both? Was he wrong in feeling wronged? Should he feel in the wrong?

 _What a fucking mess. What was I ever thinking?_ He resolved never to have anything to do with a married person ever again.

He didn’t hate Kevin and he didn’t want to. In retrospect he was amazed by the amount of restraint he had shown, the understanding. Kevin had obviously never meant to hurt him, had never planned for that night to go as it had. Hunter was more hurt than angry, at least for now. Maybe he’d feel angry later on, in a day or two. But for now, he felt like a part of his soul had been torn away. The open relief on Kevin’s face at Hunter’s assurance of their continued friendship had shown Hunter how afraid Kevin was of losing him altogether. It was a reciprocal fear. Hunter couldn’t imagine his life without Kevin in it. If friendship was all they had now, then so be it; it was better than nothing.

But now… he just wanted to be alone. He had never craved solitude so much in his twenty-six years. He hadn’t cried in front of Kevin—maybe it had been the shock of it all, or the numbness that had rapidly overtaken him—but he knew it was just a matter of time, and he wanted to do it in private.

Travel-bag in hand, he headed down the hall, en route to the front desk to get his own room for the rest of the night.  
  
“Hey kiddo! Where ya goin’?” It was Shawn, grinning, tipsy. He playfully pounced on Hunter from behind, wrapping his arms around the younger man and giving him a tight squeeze. In spite of himself, Hunter managed a faint smile.

“Hey. Just, uh, headed down to the lobby. Need to get a room…”

The grin was gone in a flash. “Don’t tell me you two had a fight.”

“No, not a fight, exactly.” He hesitated. _Fuck it, he’ll know soon enough anyway._ “We, uh… we kinda broke up.”

For the first time since Hunter had met Shawn, the older man was actually speechless.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it right now,” Hunter continued before Shawn could reclaim his powers of speech. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He attempted to continue past, wheeling his bag behind him, when Shawn’s hand darted out and grabbed his forearm, and before he knew it he was being pulled into another hug. It was a tender hug this time—much different than what he was used to from Shawn, who was in the habit of tackle-hugging Hunter at random moments just for kicks—and he found it more comforting than he’d expected.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Shawn said softly. “I won’t ask you to talk about it. But are you sure you wanna be alone? You’re more than welcome to share my room.”

It was tempting. But no. He felt alarmingly vulnerable all of a sudden. Maybe it was Shawn’s warmth, or the tone of his voice, but Hunter could rapidly feel his numbness slipping away, and his control with it. And he’d be damned if he was going to break down in front of Shawn tonight.

“Thanks, but I really just need to be alone right now.”

“Okay. I understand. Just... I’m here if you need me, okay? Don’t be afraid to knock.”

“’Kay. G’night Shawn.”

“G’night Hunt.”

With obvious reluctance, Shawn released him, and he continued down the hall, breathing a sigh of relief that he’d been able to keep it together during their unexpected encounter.

What would it be like from now on? Would he ever _not_ feel awkward around Kevin? Could they possibly just go back to being the way they had been before Summerslam? He didn’t see how it was possible. At least not anytime soon. The wound was too fresh. He couldn’t even bear the thought of looking at Kevin right now. And tomorrow they’d be sitting side by side in their rental car, driving for hours to the next town. And Shawn knew now, which meant Scott and the Kid would know shortly. Were they all just going to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary?

 _And Shawn’s leaving tomorrow_.

In October, Shawn had been legitimately attacked outside of a bar in Syracuse, New York; at the time, Hunter, Kevin, and Scott had been working a European tour. Thankfully Shawn hadn’t been hurt too badly, but the company decided to make an angle out of it; they played it up that Shawn had a concussion, and tomorrow on Raw was the big angle Shawn had put together with the help of the other Kliq members. Shawn would wrestle Owen Hart, who would knock Shawn out with an enzuigiri kick to the head; Shawn would make a brief comeback, then collapse in the ring. The whole thing would be portrayed as legitimate, and Shawn had even recommended that Hunter accompany him to the hospital afterwards to keep up the façade outside the building. Shawn would make his triumphant return at the Royal Rumble; he was on the way to finally becoming champion.

Hunter thought the whole thing was brilliant, but given the turn of events tonight, the thought of Shawn leaving now depressed him even more. After Kevin, Shawn was the Kliq member to whom Hunter was closest. He might’ve been the only one of the bunch that Hunter would’ve been willing to talk to about what happened with Kevin tonight. He got on well enough with Scott and Sean but he just couldn’t see himself having that particular conversation with either of them.

Lost in thought, Hunter rounded a corner and almost collided with the Undertaker.

“S-sorry,” Hunter stammered. He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment again. The last thing he needed right now was yet another uncomfortable moment with Mark today.

“No worries,” the big man said calmly.  “You alright though? You’ve been distracted as hell all day… Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” The subtle smirk of amusement that had made Hunter squirm earlier was mercifully absent, but the inquisitive pale green eyes were as piercing as ever. The man had the most intense gaze of anyone Hunter had ever met; Hunter felt like he was being visually dissected every time Mark looked at him.

Had it been anyone else, Hunter would’ve blurted a quick “Yeah everything’s fine” and been done with it, even if it was a shameless lie. But he had the distinct feeling Mark would see right through it. At the same time, he wasn’t about to have an intimate discussion of his personal affairs here in the middle of a hotel hallway with a guy he had had only a handful of (painfully awkward) interactions with, locker room leader or not.

“I’ll be fine. Goodnight.” He hurried away before Mark had a chance to prod him further. It wasn’t really a lie. He _would_ be fine. Eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Kev's wife really did become pregnant around this time; his son was born in June of '96. They were separated in real life for a time, but that wasn't until years after this.
> 
> -Shawn was attacked outside of a bar in Syracuse in October '96; the way the story's been told, apparently he was hitting on a Marine's girlfriend, and was attacked while drunk/sleeping in a car outside soon afterwards. He was with Sean Waltman and the British Bulldog at the time, but the latter two were MIA during the attack. Hunter, Kevin, and Scott were working a European tour when this occurred. Shawn was the IC champion at the time, and forfeited the title shortly thereafter to Dean Douglas, who in turn lost it to Razor Ramon (Scott Hall). Shawn has a reputation for having found excuses to forfeit titles rather than lose them via doing a job, and it is generally accepted that this was an example of that particular behavior of his during this era.


	4. Greener Pastures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin, with some assistance from Shawn, makes a life-changing decision.

_February 18, 1996_

“Bret can be such a cunt,” Kevin growled.

“Mmhmm.” It was as much of an agreement as Kevin expected from Mark, who rarely put his anger on display. He’d already made an exception to this rule of character recently anyway, and on this same subject, weeks prior to tonight’s pay-per-view. The original plan for Kevin’s cage match with Bret had been for Kevin to powerbomb the Hitman prior to the Undertaker reaching up from a slit in the canvas and dragging his nemesis under the ring, to further set up their impending match at Wrestlemania. Bret had insisted the powerbomb be dropped. “It’ll  hurt my credibility,” he had whined. “The fans’ll think I was beat.” _Which is the fucking point_ , Kevin had thought angrily. The two had argued back and forth, Bret stubbornly refusing to budge on the matter, until the erstwhile quiet Mark had finally erupted, to the surprise of both.

“Motherfucker, not everything is about you!” Mark snapped. “This makes _our_ match at ‘Mania mean more. I had you beat at the Rumble until he interfered, and now he’ll have you beat tonight until I do. It makes perfect sense.”

And it did make sense, but in the end, Bret had his way in the matter, and the ending was reworked to exclude Kevin’s finisher. Being a consummate professional, he decided to only potato Bret once during the match.

Kevin glanced briefly across the locker room at Hunter, studiously watching Shawn’s match with Owen Hart on the monitor along with Scott and the Kid. Mark’s eyes followed Kevin’s.

“The kid did good tonight,” Mark acknowledged.

Kevin smiled. “He always does.” Hunter had wrestled Duke “The Dumpster” Droese earlier in the show, bumping around the ring like a rag doll for close to ten minutes. Hunter had a knack for being a heel, and was just unselfish enough to do it right; he had no qualms with being thrown around the ring, with being doused with Henry Godwinn’s slop-bucket, with rolling around in a pig-pen. He did was he was told, without argument, no matter how embarrassing it was. That attitude had won him a lot of respect among the boys since his arrival in the company, and it was one of the things Kevin loved about him.

“Things any better with you two?”

“No, not really,” Kevin sighed. It had been two months since their breakup. They still traveled together, still talked, joked, and laughed, but underneath it all laid an almost palpable tension. Kevin’s guilt weighed him down like Mabel sitting on his back; he could barely even look Hunter in the eyes anymore. _Not that he’d notice_ , Kevin thought glumly. _He barely looks at me at all now, much less in the eyes._

“This might sound strange,” Kevin continued, “but sometimes I think I could deal with it more if he’d just blow up at me and tell me to go fuck myself than for him to just be the way he is with me right now. I’d deserve his anger. I know I hurt him. But this is just… fuck, I don’t know. It’s like he tries to pretend everything’s okay but at the same time he’s put up this wall between him and me. We can sit in the car and laugh together for hours, then when we’re at the airport and about to head home, he won’t even let me hug him.”

“I noticed since Shawn came back, they’ve been kinda joined at the hip.” Mark looked at him inquiringly.

“Yeah.”

“Well? Are they…?”

“No idea. Maybe. I know Shawn’s wanted him since he got here, but I got to him first. I wouldn’t put it past Shawn to have pounced on him the moment he knew we were through.”

“You think they’d hide it from you?”

“Hunter would. He’s uncomfortable enough as it is right now, he wouldn’t want things to be more awkward. Shawn, though…” Kevin smirked. Shawn hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to conceal his escapades with Sunny, even with her boyfriend, Chris Candido, sometimes only a few hotel rooms down the hall. He got a kick out of that sort of thing. And he hadn’t exactly been devastated when Kevin had told him about his breakup with Hunter, although he’d feigned otherwise.  

Shawn had coaxed management into letting him work with Hunter at the series of house shows since his comeback. They’d both been eager to wrestle each other for months; mentoring Hunter had become a sort of pet-project for Shawn since Hunter’s debut, and Shawn wanted to personally test the  younger man’s improvement over the past several months. The sudden dramatic increase in physical contact between the two sent a surge of jealousy and irrational possessiveness through Kevin.  _He’s not mine anymore_ , he told himself almost nightly now. _It’s not my business what he does, or with who_. _So what if he hooks up with Shawn?_

“So I heard earlier Scott’s leavin’ sometime in the spring,” Mark asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, he got a sweet deal down south. Big money. _Guaranteed_ money. And a lighter schedule.”

“Plannin’ on joinin’ him?”

“It’s tempting,” Kevin admitted. “Not gonna lie. We’re talking _Sting_ money. That plus the lighter schedule would be pretty nice, what with my first kid being born in a few months. I dunno though…  my last run in Atlanta wasn’t all that great.”

Mark chuckled. “Don’t wanna dust off the old Oz mask, huh?”

Kevin groaned. “Don’t even go there, Mean Mark.” The Texan cringed. Both men had less-than-fond memories of their WCW days.

“Honestly, I’m still thinking about it,” Kevin continued. “I like it here, and I love the boys. I’d miss this place. I’m hoping Vince can match the offer.”

“I doubt it. Vince can’t throw down the money Turner can.”

“Well, I can always hope. Anyway, looks like Shawn and Owen are done, I’m gonna head to the curtain.”

*****

It hadn’t been his best match with Bret, but after Bret’s complete lack of accommodation on the ending he’d found it difficult to care too much. _On to Wrestlemania_ , he thought. He’d been looking forward to his program with Mark for months. The two had developed a strong friendship over the years; they’d both been bouncers prior to entering the world of professional wrestling, and shared a similar philosophy on the business. Both were known for being fairly easy-going personality-wise, yet fiercely protective of their friends. The nominal heads of their respective locker room factions, they tended to be viewed as rival gang leaders by the wrestlers who were unaffiliated with either the Kliq or BSK, but it was hard to justify that view when they were hanging out together at strip clubs and bars on an almost nightly basis. Kevin knew he had no reason to worry about any Bret-style shenanigans from Mark during their on-screen feud; Mark was too professional, and as selfless as a pro wrestler could be.

Stripping off his sweat-soaked ring gear and boots, Kevin grabbed a towel, soap, and a bottle of shampoo, and headed for the showers. The show was over, and it was almost time for the partying to begin. He intended to down some beers, pop some pills with his fellow Kliq buddies (minus the notoriously squeaky-clean Hunter), and go to bed sometime around dawn. He’d see if Hunter wanted to hit up the gym in the morning. Hunter was a fellow gym-rat and had become Kevin’s constant companion in the weight room since joining the company; thankfully that hadn’t changed since their split, at least. Kevin was glad to find any excuse to spend some one-on-one time with Hunter these days, since it was becoming increasingly difficult.

He spied Sean Waltman standing in front of the shower room, a towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping wet. The young man started at the sight of him, and Kevin didn’t miss his obvious alarm.

“What’s up Kid?”

“Uh, the uh, the shower’s kind of uh, full at the moment,” Sean stammered.

Kevin quirked an eyebrow at the smaller man. “Full?”

“Yeah. You might wanna come back in a few minutes or something.”

“Fuck that, I’m sure I can squeeze in there,” Kevin said, advancing toward the entrance. To his surprise Sean stepped in front of him, intentionally blocking his path.

“No really Kev, you might not wanna go in there right now.” There was an unmistakable undercurrent of desperation in his face and tone.

“Yeah well, I don’t have time Kid,” Kevin growled, shouldering past his friend.

He had barely taken three steps around the corner and into the showers when he saw Shawn and Hunter, naked, wet, arms wrapped around each other. The fingers of Shawn’s right hand tangled through Hunter’s wet hair as the two kissed; his other hand rested low on the younger man’s waist. Kevin stood frozen at the entrance, stunned. _Fuck me_ , he mentally kicked himself. _Why didn’t I see it?_ Mark had obviously noticed that something was up between the two. Kevin wasn’t sure if he was really just that oblivious, or if he had merely been in denial.

Hunter noticed his former lover’s presence first, his hazel eyes opening at the conclusion of Shawn’s kiss, spotting Kevin in the background, then widening.

“Kev…”

Shawn turned. If he was fazed at the sight of Kevin discovering them together, in typical Shawn fashion he decided not to show it. Almost defiantly, he kept his arms around Hunter, if anything moving his hand ever lower down his waist, fingertips teasingly caressing Hunter’s ass.

“What’s up Kev?” Shawn said, and the glint in the Texan’s blue eyes almost unraveled Kevin. Hunter, clearly uncomfortable, had released Shawn, but the older man was unabashed, making no move to let him go.

“Not a damn thing,” Kevin growled. “Don’t mind me. By all means, continue.” _Fuck, this shouldn’t bother me. This should_ not _bother me. He’s not mine anymore. He can fuck whoever he wants. It’s not my business._

He turned his back on the two, made an effort to go about his business, turning on the water and letting it warm up before he started wetting his hair. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of bare skin and golden hair; Hunter had left. Sighing, Shawn turned off the water, wrapped his towel around himself and followed. _Thank God_. He hadn’t actually expected them to continue—Shawn might’ve been brazen enough, but not Hunter—but he was glad to see them leave regardless.

He stood under the hot water for a long moment, enjoying the warmth, watching the water swirl down the drain. _Maybe it really is time to go. I’m not sure I have it in me to do this anymore._ The awkwardness between him and Hunter was one thing, but the idea of seeing him and Shawn being together, being intimate, on the road, was another thing entirely. The borderline triumphant glimmer in Shawn’s eyes had almost been more than Kevin could bear. He’d be able to endure it for maybe a month before strangling the brash Texan.

The patter of bare feet on the shower floor alerted him to a new presence.

“Hey big meng.” It was Scott. “Everything okay? Lookin’ a bit glum.”

“Been  better.”

“Guess you know about Shawn and Hunt, huh?”

“…”

“Yeah I know, probably a bitter pill to swallow. I know how Shawn is, probably can’t help but rub it in. He always was kinda upset that you got to Hunt first. Hunt’s not tryin’ to hurt you though. The last couple months have been rough for him.”

“I know. I don’t blame him at all. I shouldn’t even be bothered by it, I know that. I don’t know if it’s just Shawn’s gloating attitude or what, but it just got to me. I’m just not over Hunter yet, I guess.”

“That stuff takes time, bud. Ain’t gonna happen overnight.”

“I don't know if I can wait for as long as it’s gonna take. Not if I have to see them like that every day. I think… it just might be time to head towards greener pastures.”

Scott’s eyebrows shot up. “You wanna take over Atlanta with me after all?” More money. Less work. Distance between him and Hunter and Shawn. Possibly the best chance of preserving his friendship with them. If there was a downside to any of it, he couldn’t see it, at least not in his current state of mind.

“Yeah. Tell Bischoff I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -As anyone who has seen any of his shoots (or read his Twitter) is aware, Kevin Nash is a relentless f-bomber; I write him accordingly and without apology.  
> -In a shoot interview with Kayfabe Commentaries, Kevin tells the story of Mark going off on Bret over Bret refusing to take Kevin's finisher during the February IYH match.  
> -Shawn infamously was banging Sunny behind Candido's back around this point in time. Candido either didn't know or didn't want to believe it, I've heard the story told both ways.  
> -Hunter's teetotalism is pretty common knowledge; upon joining the Kliq he became their default driver solely because he didn't drink or use drugs.  
> -Kevin's versions of events sometimes differ from interview to interview. In his '04 Torch Talk he recalls telling Vince that he was going to WCW at the Raw taping in Stockton, CA (January 22, 1996); in his Kayfabe Commentaries interview he says he made up his mind & told Scott in the shower at the Louisville IYH. I went with the Louisville one for this story, but excluded the fact that they almost hugged naked in the shower in glee afterwords (that part has remained consistent in *all* of Kev's versions of this story).


	5. Doom and Gloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin is less than thrilled about Shawn hooking up with Hunter; Mark makes Kevin a promise.

“I’m not sure why you’re so upset. You knew I was interested in him,” Shawn’s scowl was hardly improving Kevin’s already sour mood. “What, do you think he should just stay single forever because it didn’t work out between you two?”

Kevin bristled. “It was working out fine. _I’m_ the one who fucked it up, and I don’t need you to remind me of that. And to answer your stupid-ass question, no, of _course_ I don’t fucking think that. He has every right to be with whoever he wants.”

“Then what’s the problem? You were _pissed_ when you saw us in the shower.”

“Oh don’t act like you don’t know why, Shawn. You looked like the cat that ate the canary when I walked in on you two. Could you rub it in just a little more?”

“I wasn’t trying to rub it in, sheesh. It was just, well, awkward, so I was trying to… to make some light of it, I guess.”

“Bullshit,” Kevin hissed. “You were gloating. Like he was some trophy you’d taken from me. Fuck, does that kid even mean anything at all to you? Or is this really just about you showing me up?”

“You really think I’m that shallow?” Shawn’s voice rose. “He’s not just some toy to me, if that’s what you think. I _do_ care about him.”

Kevin pounced on Shawn’s carefully-chosen words. “Okay, you _care_ about him. But do you _love_ him?” The bigger man had stopped yelling; his voice was now almost lethally calm, and this seemed to unsettle Shawn. The normally cocky Texan suddenly seemed unable to meet Kevin’s gaze, the perpetually mischievous blue eyes now sullen, looking past him.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t think he does either, honestly. But we both want to give it a go and see what happens.”

“Fine. But just keep one thing in mind, okay? I _do_ love him. That hasn’t changed. It’s not gonna change. And if you ever hurt him…” he let the implied threat hang in the air for a moment, accompanied by a menacing glare under which the smaller man seemed to wilt. “Don’t ever fucking hurt him, Shawn.”

With that, Kevin turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

*****

“You’re… really leaving?” Hunter’s face was a blend of stunned disbelief and dejection. Kevin sighed. _Like I haven’t hurt him enough lately._

“Yeah, I figured it was just too good of an offer to pass up.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it…”

“No,” Kevin lied. “I don’t want you to think that. None of this was your fault. I can’t stress that enough.”

But the young man was clever, and to Kevin’s dismay, clearly wasn’t buying it.

“You knew about the offer weeks ago. You told me about it before Shawn got back. And you said you weren’t gonna take it ‘cause you wanted to be here. Then you catch us making out in the shower last night and all of a sudden it’s ‘just too good of an offer to pass up.’” A frown creased the younger man’s brow. “You don’t need to lie to me, Kev. Besides, it’s not like it’s the worst bomb you’ve ever dropped on me.”

Kevin winced; Hunter may as well have slapped him across the face. _Fuck, he can be withering when he wants to._

“Okay, fine. It did factor into my decision a bit. I just… I don’t know if I can handle seeing you and Shawn together so soon. And you know what he’s like, he can’t help but gloat about it. The last thing I want is to have a reason to resent either of you. I told you I still love you, and I meant it. And I love Shawn, as a friend. You’re both precious to me, and I don’t want bad blood between us. I really think my leaving’ll be for the best.”

“Tell me honestly… do you not like us being together?”

Kevin hesitated. “I… have some reservations about it. I know that Shawn couldn’t jump on you fast enough after he knew we weren’t together anymore, and it just doesn’t sit well with me. Especially because I know how much you were hurting afterwards… I feel like he probably took advantage of that.” Hunter opened his mouth to protest but Kevin raised a hand, cutting him off. “It’s something he’d do,” Kevin continued insistently. “Look, I don’t know how much thought you’ve put into this, or what you want from him. But Shawn’s not the ‘serious relationship’ type, Hunter. He’s never really _had_ a serious relationship. You know about that marriage he had but that was a fucking sham and he’ll tell you so himself.” He lifted a hand, gently cupping Hunter’s face, stroking Hunter’s smooth cheek with his thumb. “I want you to be happy. And I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all. If it works out between you and Shawn, then that’s great.” He decided to leave it there. In truth, Kevin felt extremely pessimistic about the whole thing, but Hunter looked miserable enough right now. It took a tremendous amount of restraint for him to not pull Hunter against him and kiss him in that moment. He couldn’t remember the last time his former lover had looked so vulnerable.

“I’m uh, gonna go get ready for my match,” Hunter said feebly. He rose from the leather couch and departed from the room with a haste that wasn’t lost on Kevin. The big man raked a hand across his face, sank down deep into the couch. He’d probably see those wet amber eyes in his dreams for the rest of the week.

*****

Mark’s lips curled in a smile simultaneously full of understanding and utterly devoid of surprise. “Yeah I kinda figured you’d end up takin’ that offer. And not just ‘cause of the money, either.” He gave a pointed glance across the locker room where Shawn and Hunter sat discussing ideas for Hunter’s match later that night.

Kevin didn’t feel like explaining his reasoning any more tonight; if Mark wanted to believe that he was being driven down south by Hunter getting involved with Shawn, so be it. Of course, he knew the man well enough by this point to know that Mark could probably read between the lines, and that he probably understood perfectly well. His lack of response caused the redheaded Texan to quirk an eyebrow.

“Is it really that hard for you, to see them together?”

“It’s just… complicated. I just don’t think anything good’s gonna come out of it.”

“Why not?”

“Shawn can be… erratic. And selfish. And hurtful when he’s in a shitty mood. And Hunter’s the type that’ll just roll over and take it. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

Mark chuckled. “Damn, that’s pretty harsh coming from one of Shawn’s best friends.”

“Exactly,” Kevin said dryly. “I love him to death, but a spade’s a fuckin’ spade. Hunter doesn’t wanna hear it though.”

“The kid’s prob’ly not even thinkin’ straight right now. I think he’s just hopin’ Shawn’ll take his mind off of _you_.”

“Probably,” the older man agreed. “I was gonna ask you…” Kevin hesitated for a moment. Mark looked at him inquisitively, waiting. _No_ , Kevin thought, subconsciously shaking his head. _It’s not right to involve him in this_. “Nah, it’s nothin’.”

“You want me to keep an eye on them after you’re gone.” It was a statement, not a question.

Kevin blinked, somewhat disconcerted. “… I really don’t feel right about askin’—”

“It’s not a problem. If it’ll help you sleep easier while you’re down there, I’ll be glad to. ‘Cause hell, you could be right,” Mark said, contemplatively stroking his mustache with his index finger, “it could be a trainwreck in the making. Shawn’s gonna have the strap soon. I don’t think he has a clue how much is gonna be on his plate. Nobody ever knows until they’re in that spot, you know that as well as I do. And frankly I don’t think he’s mature enough right now to handle the shitstorm he’ll be dealing with. And that poor kid’ll probably feel the brunt of it by default once you and Scott are gone.”

“Christ, I hadn’t even thought about that part. Thanks… I didn’t think it was fuckin’ possible, but now I feel even worse about all of this.”

Mark grinned. “Anytime,” he chided, but in an instant the man was leaning in, fixing Kevin with an earnest stare. “But in all seriousness. You don’t need to worry. I’ll keep an eye on Hunter after you leave. You have my word.”

Coming from anybody else in the company, Kevin would’ve been left with at least a shred of doubt, a modicum of worry. But Mark Calaway wasn’t just anybody else in the company. He was one of the most trustworthy individuals Kevin had ever known. His words sent a surge of relief through Kevin.

“I really appreciate it, man. You have no idea...”

“Don’t worry about it big man. He’ll be in good hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Shawn discusses his (brief) first marriage (via an "accidental" engagement) in his book, "Heartbreak & Triumph: The Shawn Michaels Story." He was in his early twenties at the time.


	6. Icebreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter's first Wrestlemania shapes up to be bitterly disappointing; Mark gives him some words of encouragement

****_March 31, 1996_  
  


 _My first Wrestlemania_. The lack of enthusiasm he felt for that thought at the moment was outright depressing. _Fuckin’ Warrior._

Warrior. Hunter smirked. He still couldn’t believe that Hellwig had actually legally changed his name to that. It was like something out of a corny superhero comic. _And I thought Bret took this too seriously_.

He thought back to last year’s Wrestlemania. He hadn’t officially started with the company yet; his debut was set for later that month. But he’d been invited to Wrestlemania XI along with some other newcomers, like Chris Candido and Tammy Sytch, to introduce themselves to everyone backstage and get a feel for what the company was like and how everything ran. That was the day he’d met Kev and Shawn. He’d been a nervous wreck, stumbling his way through his introduction, telling Shawn how he’d worked with Terry Taylor down in Atlanta and Terry had thought they’d get on well. It had took every last nerve he’d had, but he had also managed to ask the two top guys if they’d mind him hanging  out with them once he started on the road.

And the rest was history.

He’d been looking forward to this day so much ever since. Wrestling at the biggest show of the year, in the biggest wrestling company on the planet, was supposed to be every wrestler’s dream. But he highly doubted he’d be walking away with many fond memories of tonight.

He’d been ecstatic when Vince had come to him about working a match with the Ultimate Warrior for his first Wrestlemania. To be in a program with a name that big for his first ‘Mania was almost unfathomable. Not only that, but Warrior wouldn’t actually be appearing on TV for any of the buildup to the pay-per-view. Hunter would have to do the heavy-lifting for that. He was surprised—and flattered—that Vince would put so much trust in him, especially given how relatively inexperienced he still was.

The problem was, Warrior had turned out to be a first-class asshole.

Hunter had been under the assumption during the whole buildup, that they’d be having an actual, full-length match. Warrior flat-out refused. He wanted to look borderline omnipotent for his comeback. He insisted on it being a squash; he wanted to steamroll the kid in about a minute flat. And he wanted to no-sell Hunter’s finisher, the Pedigree, to boot. Arguments had proven futile; some of the agents had even gone to bat for Hunter, but Warrior wasn’t open to reason. It was going to be done his way, or he was walking out the door before the show even began.

“It sucks, but we don’t have much choice. He’s got us by the balls,” Vince grumbled. “It wouldn’t do to have him advertised for tonight all this time and then not deliver. That type of thing’s terrible for business. So we’ll humor the son of a bitch tonight. I’ll find a way to make it up to you, kid.”

The rest of the Kliq were furious. Kevin had practically sworn the air into sulfur when he’d found out.

“And Vince asked me to put that fucker over at some point before I leave,” he growled. “Ain’t happenin’ now unless he can take me in a fuckin’ shoot.”

In an effort to cheer Hunter up, Shawn had offered to let Hunter ride the zip-line he’d be using to descend from the ceiling later on as his ring entrance.

“Vince and I both tested it out earlier, it’s fuckin’ _sweet_. You should totally give it a go.”

The mere thought of himself hovering dozens of feet above the concrete hanging from a wire made Hunter’s palms damp; he’d never been on good terms with heights.

“Enh, I’ll pass,” he mumbled. “Excuse me for a bit, guys.”

He needed some time alone. He didn’t want to be in a bad mood tonight of all nights, but since he couldn’t seem to help it anymore, he was determined to not drag anybody down with him. Especially Shawn; this was Shawn’s big night. Shawn was getting the World Title tonight. He’d waited so long for this, and at the very least, Hunter would try to muster up some good cheer to celebrate with his lover after the show. Shawn didn’t need to see him mope in the meantime.

Alone-time was hard to come by in an arena right before a major pay-per-view event though. Everywhere he wandered, there were people—suits, the boys, the technical crew. Before he knew it, he’d accidentally meandered into the catering area, and in the crowd of feasting employees he eyed a head of terrible hair which he instantly recognized as belonging to Warrior.

“Fuck,” he said aloud, and ducked behind the corner. That was the last man in the entire building he wanted to see right now.

“Somethin’ wrong, kid?” the Undertaker asked. Hunter spun, startled, to find the big man right behind him. “Avoiding someone?” The pale green eyes glanced over the top of Hunter’s head, and the slight smirk that appeared on the older man’s lips made it plain to Hunter that Mark knew what was going on. Hunter didn’t respond. His instincts told him to tread carefully; it was one thing for him to vent to his Kliq boys, but Mark was different. They were still really only acquaintances, even though Hunter had been in the company for almost a year now. Hunter had always found their rare interactions painfully awkward for some reason. The thought of complaining to him about anything struck him as a no-go. How does one complain to a guy who had strapped himself into a flak-jacket so he could wrestle with multiple broken ribs last year? _He’ll think I’m just another whiny little bitch like Dean Douglas and that’ll be it_ , he thought. He respected Mark more than just about anybody in the locker room, and wanted his respect in turn. He decided to go with indifference.

“Nah,” he shrugged. “Just walkin’ around.”

Glimmering green eyes bored into him. _God, I can’t hide a damn thing from him_ , Hunter thought miserably.

“You don’t need to pretend,” Mark said. “I already know about what happened between you and Hellwig earlier. Things like that always spread fast around here.”

“You mean between me and _Warrior_ ,” Hunter corrected wryly.

Mark grinned. “Yeah, of course. My mistake. Apparently he actually gets upset when people call him by his old name now.” The Texan shook his head. He looked sympathetically at Hunter. “Ya know, you’re not the first person in this company he’s ever screwed over. He was an asshole back during his last run here too. It’s also not the first time he’d held Vince up and threatened to no-show if he didn’t get his way. He pulled the same shit back in ’91. To be honest I’m surprised Vince wanted to deal with him again, but I guess he’s hopin’ the money the guy brings in’ll be worth it.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t look at the man. The subject was making him antsy all of a sudden. He wanted nothing more now than to rant at Mark about how much bullshit all of this was and could the guy at least not no-sell his fucking finisher so he’d be able to maintain at least a shred of his credibility after tonight, and why did he need to be humiliated with his parents at the show to see him perform at his first Wrestlemania? Instead he just seethed in silence, his frown darkening with each consecutive thought.

“Hunter,” Mark prodded, “no matter what you might think, I really won’t think less of you if you want to vent a little. You have every right to be pissed about this.”

“I’ll get over it,” Hunter said with what he hoped was a dismissive tone. “It’s not a big deal. I need to get goin’—” he tried to get by Mark, but the big man stuck a tattooed arm in front of him, hand against the wall, blocking his path.

“You’re an interesting one, I’ll give you that. Too proud to complain, huh? Or are you just too proud to complain to _me_?” Hunter stiffened.

“No, it’s got nothing to do with you,” the young man lied. “I just, I don’t wanna get that kind of a reputation here. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m just sayin’, for future reference… I've never been of the opinion that calling a fuckin' asshole a fuckin' asshole really qualifies as ‘complaining.’”

 _Fair enough_. “Fine, Hellwig’s a fuckin’ asshole,” Hunter growled. “And that’s all you’re gettin’ out of me on this. Can I go now?” The tattooed arm remained in place.

“Just one more thing, kid.”

“What is it?”

The big Texan moved in closer, leaning in towards Hunter as though they were co-conspirators in some secret plot. To Hunter’s surprise, Mark's hand went to Hunter’s ponytail, his large fingers casually twirling through the strands of Hunter’s soft golden hair. Hunter stared at him in bewilderment.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, lowering his voice, “you have _way_ nicer hair than that fried bale of hay Hellwig’s sportin’.” Then with a wink, he took his leave of Hunter, leaving the dumbstruck young man blushing to the tips of his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Kevin claims that Vince asked him to do jobs to Undertaker and Warrior upon finding out that he was leaving the company that spring; according to Kevin, he happily agreed to put 'Taker over because of how much respect he had for him, but said the only way he'd put Warrior over was if Warrior could take Kevin in a shoot. In his Torch Talk from 2004 he explains that this was because he was still pissed about the way Warrior treated Hunter at Wrestlemania XII.
> 
> -Warrior did threaten to no-show the 1991 Summerslam, over a pay dispute with Vince McMahon, who felt he had no choice but to give in to what he later termed Warrior's "exorbitant demands."


	7. Consolation Prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn achieves his boyhood dream; Hunter and Shawn skip the Wrestlemania after-party to celebrate in their own way.

_March 31, 1996_

 

The general custom after a match was for erstwhile “opponents” to meet behind the curtain afterwards, shake hands, thank each other for the match, and perhaps share a hug if they happened to be close enough. It was considered the proper, respectful, and most importantly the professional thing to do.

So Shawn was more than a little surprised upon returning backstage following his Iron Man Match with Bret Hart to discover that Bret had, in Hunter’s words, “apparently fled the fuckin’ building.”

The Texan blinked. “Whaddaya mean he _fled_?”

Hunt shrugged. “The way he stormed outta the ring after the match and back towards the curtain? Well, he kinda just… _kept_ storming, and he went to the locker room, grabbed his shit, and,” he shrugged again, “I dunno man, that was the last I saw of him. Owen says he left. Didn’t even change his gear or anything, just hopped into his rental car in his tights. Can you believe it? I thought you two were cool?”

“I thought we were too.” _Seriously, what the fuck?_ He was baffled, and more than a little angry at the insult.

“Hey, don’t let it get to you, okay?” Hunter said, wrapping his boyfriend in a hug. “Don’t let Bret being a mark ruin this for you. This is supposed to be your big night, right? Fuck him.”

Shawn smiled. “You’re right. Let him have his temper tantrum. I’ve got this,” he lifted the WWF Title in his right hand, “and I’ve got you, and that’s what matters. But you’re wrong about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not _Bret_ I’m gonna be fucking tonight.”

*****

He sat on the stiff hotel mattress, cross-legged, eyes fixed on the golden championship belt laid out before him. The room was silent save for the running water in the bathroom. Hunter'd wanted to grab a hot bath, partially because the poor kid needed to sulk for a little while after his disappointing, and more-than-a-little embarrassing, first Wrestlemania, but also because Hunter knew Shawn needed some time alone to let it all sink in.

"Don't you go isolating yourself tonight over that dickhead," Shawn had protested.

"I don't want my shitty mood dragging you down, especially tonight. If I drank I'd be downstairs getting bombed with Kev at the after-party." _Jesus_ , Shawn had thought. _Wouldn't_ that _be a fucking sight to behold?_

"You sure there's nothin' I can do to cheer you up? I could always hop in the tub with you..."

Hunter had smiled feebly. "There's barely enough room for _me_ in there." Hunter waved a hand to cut off Shawn's attempted argument. "Don't worry about me. I want _you_ to be happy tonight. I know how hard you've worked for this."

He'd scooped Hunter around the waist, pulled him against him. "I don't want what happened between you and that asshole," Shawn refused to say the man's name, "hanging over your head for _one more second_ after you step back out of that bathroom. Got it? A few years from now when _you're_ main-eventing Wrestlemania, we're gonna look back at tonight and laugh."

"Okay."

"No comin' out of there until you're over it. Promise?"

"... Promise." Hunter had looked at him very solemnly. "I just hope you don't need to pee anytime soon."

"Brat." He'd let Hunter go, playfully swatting his backside and shoving him towards the bathroom.

His mind drifted from the earlier conversation with Hunter back to the golden belt on the bed. For more than a decade, it had been all he’d ever wanted. Not so much the strap itself—that was just several extra pounds for him to carry around while he traveled—but what it entailed. He had grown up looking at the men who had carried that title almost like mythical beings, gods walking the earth. The title meant private jets and limousines and talk show appearances and media interviews and autograph signings. It also meant pay-per-view main events, locker-room leadership, and, perhaps above all, _responsibility_. The belt, at the end of the day, was a symbol—a symbol of Vince McMahon’s trust. It meant that Vince trusted Shawn enough to carry the weight of the company on his shoulders, to be the flag-bearer, to be the guy that sold the pay-per-views. To be the face of the company. The face of Vince’s “New Generation” that was supposed to be a counterpoint to the old legends who made up the main event scene down in Atlanta.

_“I want you to enjoy this,”_ Vince had said to him after the Iron Man Match. Kevin hadn’t enjoyed it. But Shawn wasn’t Kevin. The big grouch hadn’t grown up wanting to be a wrestler since he’d been a little kid like Shawn had. This was Shawn’s _dream_ , and tonight it had come true. How would it even be possible for him to _not_ enjoy it?

Nagging at the back of his mind was the fact that Bret had left after the match without shaking his hand. It had been obvious for some time that Bret wasn’t overly thrilled about dropping the strap to Shawn, but there was being unhappy, and then there was _this_. Bret prided himself on being a consummate professional, always boasting about how he’d never hurt anybody in the ring, how he was the type of wrestler to whom younger wrestlers—and kids—should be able to look up. Was a handshake too much to expect from a consummate professional after one of the best matches of either of their careers?

“You know what Bret’s problem is? He takes it too damn seriously,” Hunter had opined while driving them back to the hotel after the show. “If _being_ the champion means that Vince has faith in you to be the top guy, Bret thinks that _not_ being champ anymore somehow equates to Vince no longer having that faith in him. That’s why he’s been so moody about dropping it to you. In his mind, the symbolism works both ways. He can’t stand the idea that you’re _better_ than he is.”

_Smart kid. He might be young and inexperienced, but he gets it more than most of the guys here._

“Everything okay?” Hunter’s voice snapped him back to the present. “Such a dark frown all of a sudden… someone might think you got squashed by the Warrior tonight or somethin’.”

Shawn grinned, shook his head. “Everything’s fine.” He eyed his boyfriend, fresh from a hot bath, clad only in a bath-towel, hanging—Shawn thought—deliberately low enough to be enticing. Shawn’s eyes danced from the random beads of un-toweled wetness dotting the toned physique, to one erect nipple, and then to the other. As Shawn remembered the necessity of breathing, Hunter sat down beside him on the edge of the bed, his movement causing the already perilously low-hanging towel to unravel ever so slightly.

“Oops,” Hunter muttered, biting his lip as he re-tightened the cloth. Sparkling amber eyes met Shawn’s blue ones for just a scant second, then turned down to look at the golden belt on the bed. He sighed melodramatically, glancing back forlornly at Shawn.

“There isn’t enough room in this bed for all three of us.” He rose from the bed; the towel that was rapidly becoming the bane of Shawn’s existence loosened again at the movement, but still clung to Hunter’s waist as though determined to keep Shawn at bay. Shawn stifled a growl as he shifted on the bed, the crotch of his jeans tortuously tight all of a sudden.

All innocence, pretending not to notice Shawn’s ever-increasing arousal, Hunter made a move towards the other bed. “I guess I’ll just have to sleep here toni—” his teasing was cut off as Shawn pounced on him, kissing him as he pushed the younger man back against the wall. His tongue infiltrated Hunter’s mouth as he reached down, gripped the hated towel at Hunter’s waist, and tore it away, leaving his boyfriend naked against him. He grinned wolfishly at Hunter, as if he had just triumphed over a mortal enemy on a battlefield. Without warning he wrapped his hand around the younger man’s straining erection, intercepting Hunter’s ensuing whimper with another kiss, deepening it as he pumped Hunter’s throbbing shaft. With trembling hands, Hunter unbuttoned and unzipped his lover’s jeans, and Shawn groaned in relief as his own erection was freed from its denim prison. With his free hand he grabbed a handful of Hunter’s hair, gently tugging his head back, lowering his face into Hunter’s neck, his lips and tongue dancing over the tender skin. Hunter moaned, bucked his hips in protest as Shawn’s hand began pumping him at a slower tempo, but otherwise the blond let Shawn continue to have his way with him, as he always did.

The first time they had made love, Shawn, anticipating a struggle for dominance with the slightly bigger, stronger Hunter, had been completely caught off guard by Hunter’s submissiveness; now he relished it. Nothing turned him on more than having complete control over the younger man. Keeping Hunter pinned against the wall with his body weight, Shawn grabbed his own aching shaft, stroking the head a few times to tide himself over before taking Hunter’s cock alongside it, pumping them both together. At the touch of Shawn’s cock against his, Hunter whimpered, and Shawn smiled at the feeling of sudden moisture on the tip of his lover’s shaft. He used Hunter’s precum as a lubricant for both of them, and increased the tempo of his strokes, all the while continuing to kiss Hunter’s neck. Hunter’s fingers tugged at Shawn’s shirt— _why the fuck didn’t I take it off?_ —finally slipping under the cloth to mingle in Shawn’s chest hair before gliding around to grip the older man’s waist. Sensing that Hunter was on the verge of orgasm, Shawn slowed the tempo to a crawl, shushing the younger man with a finger when he ventured another protest.

“Not yet.”

Pulling Hunter off the wall and towards the bed, he gave his lover a playful shove backwards, and Hunter obligingly flopped down on his back and made himself comfortable. Grabbing the golden title draped over the edge of the bed, Shawn set it down on the desk, then resumed the task at hand. He fumbled over the buttons on his shirt, trying to undress himself as rapidly as possible while Hunter waited in patient silence. Hunter’s hazel eyes devoured Shawn while the older man tossed his shirt off and quickly shed the rest of his clothes. He wasted no time draping himself over his boyfriend, shuddering a little at the skin-on-skin contact as their bodies pressed together. Nobody could electrify him from head to toe the way that Hunter could.

Twining his fingers in his lover’s soft golden hair, he contemplated the young man for a moment.

“What is it?” Hunter asked.

“Just tryin’ to decide what I wanna do to you.”

“We can take it easy if you want. I know you’re prob’ly beat after that match.”

“Just a little bit,” he said with a grin. In truth he was more than a little tired, and sore from head to toe. But he still wanted to make the kid happy after the disappointing day he’d had. Any other night, he would’ve happily fucked Hunter senseless, but that was out of the question tonight.

He gave Hunter one more deep, long kiss, reveling in his boyfriend’s soft noises as their tongues mated. Finally pulling himself away, he repositioned himself over Hunter so that his head was now between his lover’s thighs, and Hunter’s between his. A satisfied moan from behind him was all he needed to know that Hunter was pleased by this turn of events. He shivered at the almost instant flicker of Hunter’s tongue over the tip of his cock. Strong arms wrapped around his lower back; large hands gripped his ass; all the while an expert tongue continued playing over the head of his aching shaft. Hunter was always very deliberate when it came to oral sex; he loved drawing it out as long as possible, making Shawn wait endlessly for that blissful moment when he finally engulfed as much of him as he could.

Shawn wasn’t quite so deliberate. At least not tonight. Planting his hands firmly on each of Hunter’s muscular thighs, Shawn deep-throated the younger man without warning. A ragged moan escaped from Hunter, prevented from bucking up in surprise only by Shawn’s hands keeping him pinned to the bed. Shawn bobbed his head up and down on Hunter’s thick shaft, rapidly at first, then gradually slower, not wanting to bring his lover off too quickly.

Hunter’s own deliberate pace was killing him. Unexpectedly, he felt the tips of Hunter’s fingers glide gently over his anus—not penetrating, merely teasing. It was the first time Hunter had ever touched him there, and it sent a tidal wave of arousal through the older man, briefly making him forget about how Hunter was torturing him with his teasing tongue. He wondered if Hunter would go further, if he’d dare to push one of those fingertips inside Shawn, even just a little bit. He was amazed by how much he wanted it to happen. But apparently Hunter’s daring went only so far tonight, and he ventured no further than those exquisite caresses. At long last, he took in as much of Shawn’s throbbing shaft as he could, and the long-anticipated ecstasy of being engulfed by his lover, combined with the extra, unexpected stimulation of Hunter’s fingers still gliding back and forth over his entrance, almost unraveled the Texan. It wasn’t long before he could feel his climax approaching. He barely managed to stave it off long enough to make sure that Hunter came first. Growling groans of pleasure mingled together as the two lovers went through the throes of their orgasms. Savoring the sweet taste of Hunter’s release, Shawn made sure not a single drop of it escaped his tongue; his eyes rolled blissfully as Hunter gave him the same treatment.

The last of his energy spent, Shawn turned off the lamp, lay down beside his boyfriend. Pulling the covers over them both, he cuddled Hunter against him.

“Feel better now, darlin’?” the older man inquired sleepily.

“Much.” He placed a gentle kiss on the tired Texan’s lips. “Goodnight.”

“G’night kiddo.” _A perfect night_ , he thought, before sleep quickly overtook him.

 

 


End file.
